


tribadism

by forochel



Series: rule63!jjp [1]
Category: GOT7, JJ Project
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cunnilingus, F/F, Face-Sitting, Fingerfucking, Marathon Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rule 63, Strapping, Tribbing, Useless Lesbians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-21 05:20:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19996525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forochel/pseuds/forochel
Summary: A cute girl walks into a bar; a Useless Lesbian (TM) almost skewers her hand with a paring knife.OR: rule63!jjp fuck a lot and have feelings.





	tribadism

**Author's Note:**

> this has literally consumed my brain since subsequence posted [this tweet](https://twitter.com/mianderings/status/1153764326731386881) ALL OF THREE DAYS AGO. 
> 
> thanks to alykapedia, my fellow filth aunt, for reading this at the last minute and being reassuring and telling me that I could stop now. thanks for waiting for me to unretire. thanks also to the anciano gran reserva 2009 that has been my true companion these 3 days. 
> 
> lastly: the theme music to this is king princess's [pussy is god](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZGIkGbs1VEc&pbjreload=10) & obvs janelle monae's [pynk](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PaYvlVR_BEc) and [make me feel](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tGRzz0oqgUE). special mentions go out to the classic fuck songs: NIN's [Closer](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PTFwQP86BRs&has_verified=1), Bush's [Mouth (the stingray remix)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LidkiRDyZDs), Franz Ferdinand's [This Fire](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=haW_ruZ_Be8). and also lee junho's [FANCY](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DIVK_5uFtOA&pbjreload=10), which makes me want to die a little inside.

Fridays at the bar always carry a unique sort of charge in the air: the work week is over for those not in the service industry, there’s a collective sigh of relief in the air and corresponding loosening of pursestrings, and, of course, the heightening of Jaebeom’s own personal hell, the very physical embodiment her suffering — walking through the door.

Right on time, as always, and cute as fuck, as always.

“Mark,” Jaebeom says very seriously, “I’m going to die.”

Mark laughs. “When are you going to stop all this dancing around?”

“Never,” Jaebeom says, and curses as she accidentally splashes soda water over her hand. “Ah, fuck me.”

“It’ll never happen until you ask her out,” Mark sing-songs, before ambling down the bar with the two mojitos he’s just mixed.

Jaebeom sighs, puts the whiskey highball in front of the Japanese businessman who’s already bright red and seven drinks in at half past seven, before going to the end of the bar to meet her doom.

She pulls on the effortlessly chic and sexy thing that she’s supposed to be known for — Mark and Jackson once showed her this clip of a Hollywood actress saying ‘Think murder, and walk’, and Jaebeom took it to heart — and leans a forearm on the bar. “Hi, Jinyoungie, what can I —” and then, like a complete and utter moron, Jaebeom chokes on her saliva.

Because Jinyoung looks particularly fetching today, in a wide-necked jumper that shows off the elegant sweep of her collarbones and dips low to expose skin that’s usually primly covered up.

“Eonnie,” Jinyoung sighs, “I need a stiff one.”

Jinyoung had been all carefully held poise and nervous alertness when she first came into the bar — very understandable, being a gorgeous woman alone in a new place. But the past few months have softened her so that she now slumps over the bar top, elbows splayed wide and wrists crossed, that pretty face cushioned on her right wrist and an unconscionably kissable pout on her full lips.

Jaebeom’s given more thought to Jinyoung’s lips than is appropriate for a bartender-patron relationship. Jaebeom is going to the eighth level of hell, because the wide neck of Jinyoung’s jumper has been pulled askew by her slump, baring the elegant jut of her clavicle dipping into her shoulder — surprisingly toned, and demanding a biting.

Biting back a line about having _several_ stiff ones to choose from back in her flat, Jaebeom tousles her soft hair and says, “Poor Jinyoungie. What happened?”

And then Jinyoung sits up a little without bothering to pull her jumper straight, so her shoulder is just _there_ , staring at Jaebeom in the face whilst Jinyoung tells the sorry tale of — actually, Jinyoung tells the enraging tale of getting hit on by a student teacher at the after-work get together she escaped from early. Jaebeom feels an abrupt flush of rage, the sickly-familiar way it chews at her self-control, the likes of which she thought she’d left behind in the skinned knuckles and bared teeth of her early twenties.

Swallowing it all down, Jaebeom hums and says, “Straight men are terrible, aren’t they? I’ve got just the drink for you.”

“I trust you, eonnie,” Jinyoung says, and smiles, laying her head down on her arm, laugh lines creasing around her eyes as she smiles sweet and pleased up at Jaebeom.

Jaebeom tells herself that Jinyoung doesn’t mean anything by it, other than the fact that Jaebeom is a fucking kickass bartender.

“I ... need to go ...” Jaebeom gestures down the bar. “And. The fridge is there.”

Making her speedy escape, She gets out the the milk, the kahlua and creme de menthe and the creme de cacao, and says to Mark as he bumps past her, “I want to fuck her and hug her in equal measure.”

“Please stop unloading on me,” Mark groans as he squats to unload the dishwasher. “Go write it into your songs.”

“What makes you think I _haven’t_ ,” Jaebeom hisses, measuring out shots into a chilled shaker.

“You’re really living up to the useless lesbian stereotype, I hope you know.”

Jaebeom kicks out at him, caps the second tin on, and walks back over to Jinyoung whilst shaking.

Jinyoung has, as is her custom, got a book out and has it tilted up to the yellow light from the lamp she’s sitting under. There’s a reason that corner seat has become hers.

“Good book?” Jaebeom asks, while straining the Kahlua Mintslide into a highball.

It’s the sort of drink that usually gets ordered by bridal parties stumbling cackling in off the street or university-aged girls trying out a slightly more upscale bar than your usual Hongdae dive.

“Mm,” Jinyoung says absently, turning a page. “It’s by a Japanese author —”

“Oh! Murakami?” Jaebeom perks ups, only to be skewered by Jinyoung’s most judgemental gaze. “Uh. Or not?”

“No,” says Jinyoung frostily. “If I wanted to read about middle-aged male authorial self-inserts being rescued from their boring lives by manic pixie dream teenagers, I ... I’d have ask you to knock me out.”

Jaebeom laughs and slides the high ball, garnished with a mint leaf, across to Jinyoung. “Strong opinions.”

“I hate him,” Jinyoung says flatly. She is so cute, Jaebeom thinks, whilst hating on popular authors. “Or, well, I guess I hate the hype around him.” She punctuates this with a sip.

Deciding not to tell Jinyoung that she has Murakami’s entire ouevre, Jaebeom asks, “How’s the drink?”

She made it stronger than Jinyoung’s usual, which explain the faint flush already rising to the apples of Jinyoung’s cheeks.

Jinyoung blinks, and her tongue moves around her mouth, poking visibly at the inside of her cheek. “Good,” she hums with pleasure, and then giggles — in her warm, husky voice, the frothy sound of it makes Jaebeom want to consume her. “Strong,” Jinyoung continues, and then breathes, “Wow.”

Jaebeom can’t help but laugh.

As always, Jinyoung takes her breath away by leaning her head against a fist and looking up at Jaebeom through her eyelashes, a moue on her lips. Jaebeom can’t tell if it’s coquettish or on purpose or — She almost drops the towel she’s been wiping the counter with.

“Tasty,” Jinyoung adds in that same breathy tone.

Jaebeom is caught, then, when Jinyoung’s pink tongue sweeps out, swiping wet between her lips. She wants to draw that tongue out, suck it into her own mouth, feel it on —

There’s something stripping about Jinyoung’s gaze, Jaebeom decides, even when she’s cutely tipsy on a few sips of a triple shot cocktail and smiling to herself about ... Jaebeom doesn’t even know what.

“Well, um,” Jaebeom says, “Good? Good. I’m glad you like it.”

Two seats down, one of their regulars is _definitely_ laughing into her beer. God, Jaebeom’s chic and cool image is being shattered into smithereens, just because of Park Jinyoung.

An order comes through just then, Fei-eonnie slapping an order sheet down next to a startled Jinyoung. God, even the way her eyes pop wider in shock is cute, and that’s nothing to say of the way her lips part. Jaebeom gives herself a shake under Fei’s steely, knowing look, and picks up the order.

Oh, good, a complicated drink, something to sublimate all this pent up sexual tension into. Jaebeom sets to it.

***

Jinyoung crosses her legs delicately, tugging her skirt back into place.

The drink that Jaebeom made her is hitting hard, even though she only has had half of it. It goes down so smooth and sweet, is the problem. But it’s definitely strong enough that she feels it fizzing in her veins, the sense of being outside her own skin, the lightness in her head like the weight of her usual inhibitions have sloughed away.

Which is the only reason that she squeezes the apex of her crossed thighs together as she watches Jaebeom vigorously shake whatever drink it is that took the heat of her attention away from Jinyoung. The corded strength in her forearms always plucks deep at Jinyoung’s molten centre. The way they’re bared so provocatively in the sleeveless shirt that Jaebeom is wearing tonight; the line of Jaebeom’s delts as she twirls the shaker through the air and laughs in response to the shout of delight from the pair of men in front of her; her strong-knuckled fingers deftly catching the shaker — they make Jinyoung shudder, make her want to rub herself into the old supple leather of the barstool.

There hasn’t been a Friday or Saturday night since Jinyoung first ventured into this bar that she’s left without feeling a little turned on, a little damp, a little aching hollowness between her legs.

This Friday is no different, except that Jaebeom _doesn’t stop making drinks that require shaking_. Jinyoung takes a larger gulp than advisable of her drink, because she’s painfully aware of how fat and heavy the folds between her legs have become, the way her panties are rapidly soaking through. She squirms a little, uncrosses and recrosses her legs, and tries to focus on her book.

Jaebeom eventually makes her way back to Jinyoung, who is hyper aware of every step closer that Jaebeom takes. Her attention keeps slipping away from the story to Jaebeom being competent, raising a sceptical eyebrow at some patron demanding more than they’re capable of holding, pounding a cut lime into submission with a muddler.

“Hi,” Jaebeom says, smiling wide. Jinyoung’s only ever seen her smile like this at her coworkers before, and it always makes Jinyoung’s heart skip a beat or two. “How are you doing over here?”

“Oh,” Jinyoung says a little breathily despite herself, “All right. It’s peaceful.”

That’s one of the reasons Jinyoung made this place her local spot; she never gets bothered here, especially after Jaebeom and Mark sent the last weirdo running with his tail between his legs.

“Good, good,” Jaebeom says, and goes quiet. She stays in Jinyoung’s corner though, looking at Jinyoung steadily, that smile still tucked into the corner of her mouth. Jinyoung tries not to imagine what that look would feel like when they’re grinding together.

Casting about for something to say, Jinyoung’s eyes catch on Jaebeom’s arms. There’s ink on the inside of her right wrist, a sleeve in muted watercolour wrapping halfway down her left arm. “Don’t your arms get tired?” is what comes out of her mouth, and then she freezes all over in embarrassment. “I mean! You know, all that ... shaking.”

Jaebeom blinks at her, face going slack for a bit, before she laughs. It’s amazing, the many different faces of Im Jaebeom the hot bartender.

“Well, no,” Jaebeom says, smiling broadly and flexing an arm, because she apparently wants Jinyoung to die in her bar. “I’ve been doing this for a long time.”

Jinyoung feels like her gulp was probably very extremely embarrasingly audible.

And then it feels like the bottom of her stomach drops out, because Jaebeom _smirks_ a little, those sharp, dark eyes piercing into the depths of Jinyoung’s desire, and says, “I’ll get you another drink when you’re done with that. Read your book in peace until we close, okay?”

Jinyoung nods dumbly, words stolen by the flash of heat that just rolled through her, starting from her cunt out to her fingers and toes. She can feel herself flushing at the feeling of her desire slipping out over already slick and sensitive folds, adding to the mess between her legs. Her panties are thoroughly unsalvageable at this point; she’s going to have to throw them out. Maybe Jaebeom will rip them off her and save her the trouble. She shudders, smiles weakly up at Jaebeom, who shoots her another devastating smirk before going back to work.

***

Jaebeom is on fucking fire, because she’s pretty sure she just witnessed what Jinyoung looks like when turned on, and it’s sent a shot of confidence and desire fizzing through Jaebeom’s veins. But the way Jinyoung's pupils dilated and the set of her face changed, the way her mouth softened, and most importantly, the telling, unconscious squirm that she had shuddered her way through when Jaebeom smiled at her? God, Jaebeom wants to taste her _so bad_.

But Jaebeom is ostensibly a professional, and a long-time, highly-valued employee of this bar, so Jaebeom focuses as best she can on making drinks and ignoring Mark’s increasingly judgementally suggestive sotto voce remarks, only stealing looks at Jinyoung down the bar.

Jinyoung, who’s doing a very bad job of reading her book, who always seems to be looking back at Jaebeom, who squirms so enticingly.

The desire is almost swallowing Jaebeom up at this point, the closer the clock ticks to eleven, when their bar closes ridiculously early for a Friday night (“you guys deserve to go out and have fun too!” JYP senior had declared, “I remember what it’s like to be young!” Jaebeom is not entirely convinced that JYP senior isn’t secretly a chaebol heir).

She watches Jinyoung out of the corner of her eye, watches the way she shifts about on her stool, the way she tries to focus herself by dragging a finger along the line of the story. God, she’s so cute, and so incredibly hot, under all the kindergarten-appropriate clothes that she wears.

Jaebeom remembers the first time Jinyoung walked in wearing a cute frock with cats printed all over it on and an uncertain pout on her face. Jinyoung is permanently pouting, unless she’s smiling that shy smile, lips curled up in the corners like a cat, at Jaebeom, or laughing, face wrinkled with the force of it and round teeth poorly hidden behind her fingers. Jaebeom thought her cute then, intriguing — a beautiful woman in a cute dress walking alone, a shy kind of confidence about her, into a bar?

And then Mark had gone up to her and said, “Jinyoungie! You finally made it here!” and Jinyoung’s entire face, all that austere elegant beauty, had warmed and blossomed into a gorgeous smile that burnt itself into Jaebeom’s mind. Her dress had crayon stains on it. That’s the other thing that stuck.

And as winter thawed into spring, Jinyoung started turning up in _skirts_.

Skirts that lifted higher in the back, because of an ass that wouldn’t fucking quit torturing Jaebeom, to tease at strong thighs always hidden away beneath black leggings. Skirts that stopped at the knee, or sometimes — if Jinyoung were feeling particularly attractive, apparently — mid-thigh.

Jaebeom almost skewered her hand with a knife, the first time Jinyoung turned up in a short denim skirt and thigh-highs, and then bent over to scrutinise the musical offerings of the extremely retro and unreliable jukebox that JYP senior had imported from America.

“Jaebeom-ah,” Mark said then, taking the paring knife away from her and switching briefly into English to fully express himself. “Fucking hell. Jesus Christ on a pogo stick. Go do something safer until you’re less of a disaster.”

But Mark proved himself to be a true friend when he made Jaebeom go over to take Jinyoung’s order — which, as always, was “Whatever you think I’d like, eonnie, as long as it isn’t too strong.”

So Jaebeom’s been making Jinyoung single shot mixers for _months_ , occasionally a hot toddy if she looked particularly frozen when coming in.

Tonight’s been the first night Jaebeom has plied Jinyoung with more than one drink, let alone something with more than one shot, and a Jinyoung flushed with alcohol is ... both dangerous and endearing, to say the least. She’s still quiet and contained, with that self-control that Jaebeom wants to tear away, but the hot flash of her eyes as she glances at Jaebeom, the way she is so much more honest whenever Jaebeom goes over to check on her, sends shivers down Jaebeom’s spine, makes her eager to get her mouth on Jinyoung, to find out how wet Jinyoung can get, to grind one out against one of those tantalisingly firm thighs.

***

It feels like it has been an _eternity_ when Mark finally leaves, shooting Jinyoung extremely unsubtle fingerguns. She wishes she could complain about Jackson choosing to date him, but she can’t. They’re so good together; the kind of good that Jinyoung longs for.

Jinyoung’s given up on reading. She’s put her book back into her bag and started shredding her paper napkin into bits. She contemplates sliding off this stool and going to Jaebeom, who's closing out the accounts behind the bar, to press up against her side and — at this point, probably rub against her like a cat in heat.

"I won't be much longer," Jaebeom's voice cuts into Jinyoung's fantasy. "Sorry."

Taking a long, steadying breath in, Jinyoung says, "It's okay." Her voice trembles without her permission, and Jaebeom's head shoots up.

“Oh,” she says, and puts the sheaf of receipts in her hand down. “Jinyoungie.”

“It’s fine,” Jinyoung tries insisting, but _god_ she’s been wet and throbbing for _hours_ , and all she really wants right now is a kiss.

“It’s clearly not,” Jaebeom says, and makes some sort of mark with a pen before storing the sheaf away somewhere unseen. “I’m basically done here, the rest can wait 'til tomorrow.”

The music hasn’t been shut off yet, but it definitely switched at some point from chill ambient electronica to something characterised more by snapping, prowling bass riffs over the sort of beat that makes Jinyoung think of, well, of fucking. That this music is probably Jaebeom’s choice makes Jinyoung’s heart beat louder in her ears as Jaebeom makes her way out from behind the bar and comes to Jinyoung, the tension that’s been building between them pulling taut and on the cusp of snapping.

“Hi,” Jaebeom says, when she’s right in Jinyoung’s space, the same way she’s greeted Jinyoung for months now, except now there’s a whiskey-dark shade to her tone, a hungry edge to her sharp gaze. “Jinyoungie.”

It feels like half the oxygen has been drained from the room, and Jinyoung’s left gasping for air.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Jaebeom murmurs, and reaches out.

It’s a hot blur from there — Jaebeom’s fingers curled around her jaw; their mouths on each other, devouring; Jinyoung clamping her thighs around Jaebeom’s narrow hips and tangling her fingers in the loosening strands of Jaebeom’s pompadour, drawing her closer, closer, so that Jinyoung can grind into Jaebeom’s crotch, the sturdy, rough denim of her fly heaven through the thin cotton of her panties.

“Fuck,” Jaebeom groans into the sensitive skin of the hollow behind Jinyoung’s ear; she’d discovered that very quickly and has been worrying at it with her teeth. “You’re so fucking hot.”

Jinyoung makes a formless sort of noise in response, and then shrieks a little when Jaebeom steps back, taking Jinyoung with her off the stool and lets her legs down.

“And cute too,” Jaebeom says, smile suddenly sweet.

Jinyoung’s about to make some sort of retort when Jaebeom’s hands slide up under her skirt while Jaebeom slides to her knees, presses a kiss into the side of a knee.

“Oh god,” Jinyoung says faintly, spreading her legs a little wider. “ _Please_.”

When Jaebeom unpeels the thin cotton of her panties from her cunt, coated in the slick, sticky evidence of how fucking hot she finds Jaebeom, Jinyoung shudders hard at the rush of cool air; it’s followed quickly by the warm breath of Jaebeom’s disbelieving sigh.

“Fuck,” Jaebeom breathes, a smile playing about her lips, “I can’t believe you’ve been like this for hours.”

Peevishly, Jinyoung retorts, “I can’t believe I didn’t just go home to my vibrator.”

Jaebeom laughs against her thigh and the timbre of her voice as it husks lower goes straight to Jinyoung’s cunt. “Oh, I can do you one better.”

Hips bucking up, Jinyoung snaps, “It had better be more than one.”

Jaebeom sucks a kiss into the tender soft skin of her inner thigh then, and Jinyoung slams her hands down onto the bartop so she doesn't slide to the floor as her knees give way.

“Right,” Jaebeom says, and stands back up, sliding enticingly all along Jinyoung’s front, hands sliding round and up the back of Jinyoung’s thighs. Jinyoung’s about to demand to know what Jaebeom thinks she’s doing, when Jaebeom grunts, hefts, and lifts her up onto the bar. “There we go,” she says in satisfaction, rucking Jinyoung’s skirt up to the waist in the same motion and splaying Jinyoung’s legs open, thumbs rubbing into the dip between pelvis and thigh.

Jinyoung whimpers; being put on display like this is making her skin buzz all over, makes her insides clench harder and faster than she’s experienced without being touched in her life. She wonders if Jaebeom can see how hungry for it Jinyoung is, the way her eyes seem to be fixed on Jinyoung’s cunt.

“Touch me,” Jinyoung whines, “Eon _nie_.”

Jaebeom startles, and then laughs a little, before pulling over the barstool that Jinyoung’s probably forever stained, lowering and straddling it before ducking in.

“I think,” she says and then drags a wet open kiss up one thigh to where Jinyoung is already dripping onto the cold marble of the counter, dragging a long, low moan out of Jinyoung along with her mouth. She stops just short of where Jinyoung is throbbing, and repeats the same torture on Jinyoung’s other leg. “We can drop the honorifics.”

“Please,” Jinyoung gasps, and buries her fingers back into Jaebeom’s hair, trying to tug her mouth where she wants it. “Jaebeom-ah, I need your mou—” her plea rises into a breathless scream when Jaebeom spreads her with those thumbs and licks in and up, in and up, in and up. The hard ridge of her nose is both relief and torture against Jinyoung’s clit.

Jinyoung feels like her nerve endings have all been set ablaze, her back arching as her hips snap up into Jaebeom’s face; she has a hand braced against the bar top for leverage as she tries to smear herself into Jaebeom’s hot mouth, to get that tongue deeper into her. Her breasts feel heavy underneath her jumper; her nipples stiff against the lace of her bra.

She’s been so turned on for so long that her orgasm is already rising rapidly, as Jaebeom presses filthy, wet, open-mouthed kisses to her, tongue darting deep, swirling, dragging along the sensitive, wet insides of Jinyoung’s swollen labia, rolling against her clit. Distantly, Jinyoung is aware of the degenerate sounds that they’re making together, of the overwhelmed “ _ah, ah_ ”s that she’s panting out as her belly tightens and her knees draw in together, slapping against Jaebeom’s arms.

“I,” Jinyoung tries.

She dissolves when Jaebeom moans, latches onto her clit, fluttering her tongue against it whilst her thumbs slide inwards to the hottest core of Jinyoung, from where they’d been holding her open all the while; her hips jerk up into it and she’s juddering hard, over and over, Jaebeom wringing the convulsions out with the tip of her tongue working insistently over her. With the barest scrape of teeth, it’s like a wildfire abruptly blazes out from her clit, overwhelming and obliterating.

The loud wet ‘ _pap_ ’ of Jaebeom pulling away from her cunt is what brings Jinyoung back to herself. She’s curled over, chest heaving, ass sliding against the bar top with how drenched she is.

Still, she throbs deep inside when Jaebeom looks up at her, hair entirely dishevelled and falling into a messy mop, mouth red and glistening with saliva and Jinyoung’s come. There's a flush high on her cheeks and a wet streak highlighting one sharp cheekbone. Jinyoung reaches a shaky hand out to swipe at it.

Jaebeom inhales sharply, gratifyingly, at Jinyoung's touch. Her pupils are dilated and she pants out, “How many does that count as?”

It takes her a while to recover her voice, but then — “One,” Jinyoung says dizzily, even though she's still spasming with the aftershocks, thighs trembling under Jaebeom’s grounding hands.

“One,” Jaebeom parrots disbelievingly, and then laughs, standing up from the stool. At least the crotch of her jeans have been dampened to a deeper indigo. “Okay, then.”

Jinyoung thinks maybe they’re going to grind, maybe Jaebeom will shove her jeans down so Jinyoung can wrap her legs around her again and feel Jaebeom’s wetness against her own, but no — she’s pulled off the counter and bent backwards over it. She barely has the time to make a questioning nose before Jaebeom’s fingers are sliding home, fucking a moan out of her lungs.

The squelch of Jaebeom’s fingers in and out of her, opening her up, makes Jinyoung wanton, desperate for it again, the engine of her desire already turning over. Jaebeom’s fingers feel like how Jinyoung has imagined, except — _more_. They’re callused and thick at the knuckles, blunt and undelicate as Jinyoung squeezes arrhythmically, helplessly around them.

“Fuck,” Jaebeom’s hissing, shoving Jinyoung’s jumper up with her other hand, rucking it up over her breasts. “Fuck, sweetheart, you’re so —” She cuts herself off by sinking her mouth over a breast, soaking the lace and sucking one stiff nipple through lace into her mouth. Jinyoung throws her head back and wails; the sensation of damp lace, rough against her sensitive nipple, layered with the wet suction and Jaebeom’s fucking _tongue_ is too, too much.

Her thighs have clamped Jaebeom’s arm in place, weight bearing down on the thickness of Jaebeom’s fingers bunched together inside of her, the dextrous way they play her from the inside. She’s vaguely aware that she’s clawing at Jaebeom’s shoulders, but her attention has narrowed to that focal point, that intensifying sunspot of pleasure under her bellybutton.

The bursts of sensation as Jaebeom grazes her teeth across Jinyoung’s sternum to latch onto the other breast sink into the background as she trembles her way through another set of orgasms, Jaebeom pumping her fingers to draw them out when Jinyoung’s thighs fall apart, weak and wrung out, and give her space to move.

“God, you're sopping,” Jaebeom moans into Jinyoung’s mouth. Jinyoung is; she’s soaked in her own come, thighs glistening with it down to the backs of her knees. Jaebeom’s arm is slick with it too; Jinyoung reaches out with a floppy hand to bring Jaebeom’s wrist to her mouth, to slide her lips down from Jaebeom’s pounding pulse to her elbow, following one shiny track.

She’s rewarded by Jaebeom sinking to her knees again to kiss her filthy, tonguing her way into Jinyoung, like she wants to swallow all of Jinyoung’s slick down. It’s so good, lazy sparks of pleasure dancing along Jinyoung’s nerves, makes her want to stretch out long and smug like a cat.

“Baby,” Jaebeom coos against Jinyoung’s seizing cunt, still wet and raw and oh, _god_ , she still wants more. “I’m going to take you home and dick you down so good you’ll still be coming tomorrow.” Jinyoung lets out a stuttering breath in response. 

***

How exactly they got from the bar back to Jaebeom’s flat, conveniently around the corner, without being arrested for public indecency is honestly a blur.

Jaebeom can’t bring herself to care, not when she has Jinyoung spread out in just that maddening lace bralette on her bed, not when Jinyoung’d ripped her jeans off like they personally offended her, and especially not when Jinyoung’d pressed those full lips to her cunt and moaned so low and throaty that Jaebeom’d almost come all over her face.

But Jaebeom has a plan, has been fantasising about this for _months_ , and is holding on the last tenuous strands of her self control. She’ll sit on Jinyoung’s face later. There will be a later, she’s sure of it.

She’s sure because of: the angry red of Jinyoung’s glossy, fucked out cunt, swollen and sucking eagerly at the wide head of the double dildo Jaebeom is easing into her; the way Jinyoung’s back is already arching off the bed, her feet pressing flat so that she can rock up into the slow thrust in that Jaebeom has going; the fucked out _oh, oh_ s falling from Jinyoung’s lips.

The ribbed bulbous base of the dildo Jaebeom’s clenching down on is sending flares of pleasure up her spine, buzzing down her thighs to her knees. When she bottoms out, Jinyoung gasps, eyes flying wide open and then her hips really get going.

Jaebeom gets two hands under that plush ass, squeezes, groans at the feeling of muscle under the soft give of fat and gets distracted massaging at them, spreading Jinyoung more like this.

“Jae _beom_ ,” Jinyoung gasps, her head pressed back into the mattress, throat splotched pink. “Hur _ry_.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Jaebeom helps Jinyoung grind up and along the dildo back into Jaebeom. Jinyoung has such perfect breasts -- perfectly sized handfuls, and so sensitive, but it’s impossible to get at them like this; Jaebeom gathers her knees underneath her, and lifts one of Jinyoung’s long legs over her shoulder, pushes the other knee wide open, marvels at Jinyoung’s flexibility, and rocks forward; the change of angle has them both gasping as they get even closer, the firm silicone of the dildo getting a little deeper in both of them as Jaebeom dips down to the breast she didn't pay as much attention to in the bar, kissing open mouthed around the aureolus through lace and tonguing Jinyoung’s pert nipple this way and that, eventually settling to suckle at it.

“Nnnnn!” Jinyoung curls up, her bent leg wrapping around Jaebeom’s lower back to press them even closer, fingers tight in Jaebeom’s hair again, their clenching sending delicious sparks down the back of her neck.

Jaebeom pulls out, lets Jinyoung feel every inch of the dildo stretch its way out of her, savours the way Jinyoung moans in protest, before she snaps her hips back in.

“Oh, _ffffffffffffuuuuuuck_.” Jinyoung sounds half-drunk, fingers sliding down from Jaebeom’s head to clutch at her shoulders. Jaebeom pushes back up over Jinyoung to watch her face as Jaebeom pounds into her hard and fast, punching the moans out of her with each thrust in. “Oh god, Jaebeo — uh, ah, so good, _ahhhhhnnnn_.”

The percussive force of their fucking has the headboard banging against the wall. The wet clap of her hips against Jinyoung’s, the jolting of the dildo’s base inside of her everytime she bottoms out inside of Jinyoung, the noises twisting their way out of Jinyoung’s chest — Jaebeom breathes deep, clenches tight around the bulb in her, determinedly rides the simmering edge of her long-delayed orgasm.

Jinyoung is just so _pretty_ like this, eyes hazy and kiss-swollen lips parted, her breasts bouncing with every thrust. Jaebeom wants to never stop touching her.

“Come —” Jinyoung’s gasping almost soundlessly, and Jaebeom leans closer, loving the way their breasts press together, to hear better. “Come for me, b-baby.”

And oh, fuck, Jaebeom feels a shudder roll through her; obediently, she pushes back in all the way ‘til their vulva are kissing, stretched wide around the dildo slick with their come, and _grinds_ slow and dirty, circling her hips til she feels — _there_ , flings her head back with a hoarse cry as it feels like lightning scours through her, come sluicing down her thighs and the force of her orgasm making her arms give out, sending her collapsing forward.

***

It’s almost uncomfortably warm when Jinyoung blinks herself awake.

She’s in someone’s arms, and there’s a thigh between her own.

Slowly, the previous night comes back to her: fucking in the bar, god, and then Jaebeom’s stroke game with that dildo, the way she watched Jinyoung grind out one last one out on it with hot eyes before pulling it gently out and cleaning them both up.

Fuck, Jaebeom was right — Jinyoung’s still throbbing pleasantly, still swollen and heavy between her legs, still sensitive and aching.

It’s a foregone conclusion, then, for Jinyoung to slide down a little to press a little more firmly into Jaebeom’s smooth thigh, to reach down with her fingers and spread her vulva properly, and then to sandwich her clitoris between two fingers, barely pressing, as her hips start rolling down.

The embers of desire in her belly are catching, but Jinyoung keeps it nice and lazy, luxuriating in the way pleasure diffuses its way through her, trickles down her spine, just on the edge of overstimulation.

She floats, thinking of nothing but the gliding sensation and the corded strength in Jaebeom’s thigh, until the arm around her waist tightens abruptly and there are lips pressing to the nape of her neck.

“Baby,” Jaebeom says, sleep hoarse and sexy. “What?”

“You were right,” Jinyoung tells her dreamily, turning her head a little so that they can kiss, so she can draw Jaebeom’s tongue into her mouth like it’s her cunt. “I’m still c-coming.”

“Oh,” Jaebeom murmurs against her mouth, hand sliding down over Jinyoung’s to cup her cunt, slide two fingers easy as anything into her. Jinyoung's insides practically suck her in, clutching and greedy. “Fuck, Jinyoungie, you —”

The meat of her palm presses into Jinyoung’s clitoris, presses Jinyoung’s own fingers firmer against the tingling nub of it, and Jinyoung moans broken and low as pleasure crests and rolls through her, an inexorable tide sweeping through her limbs and making her breasts tingle. She shifts into Jaebeom’s fingers and away restlessly, tries pressing her chest against Jaebeom’s arm, the one that’s come around her so that Jaebeom’s got her fingers splayed out on Jinyoung’s abdomen, holding her in place as she squirms her way through the high.

“You’re incredible,” Jaebeom says, kissing it into her open mouth, dragging the hand not currently still on Jinyoung’s cunt up to squeeze a breast, thumb at her nipple like she knows. Jinyoung whines. “Fuck, I’ve never — you’re so sensitive, baby. You want another? I want you to have another.”

“Yes,” Jinyoung sighs, eyes slipping shut. “Yes.”

She ends up in Jaebeom’s lap, Jaebeom leaning back against the headboard worshipping Jinyoung’s breasts. There’s no other word for it, the way Jaebeom has her eyes closed in bliss as she alternates between fondling one and suckling light bruises into the other. Her ministrations have Jinyoung gasping sharply, while she grinds down into the three fingers that Jaebeom has crooked in her, the way the blunt pads of them slide against her g-spot, the way she’s caught between them and the thumb Jaebeom has on her clit, liquid pleasure spreading all through her hips.

“Do you want to top me, this time?” Jaebeom asks, face soft and open, when she slurps off one peaked nipple.

Jinyoung looks down at her, leans in to kiss the twin moles dotted over her left eye. “No,” she says, and rolls her hips for emphasis. “Like this is good.”

After she seizes up again, and lets Jaebeom tip her onto her back to pump her fingers lazily in and out of her, gaze hot and heavy on where Jinyoung’s been fucked loose and sloppy around her fingers — after all of that, she finally gets to put her mouth on Jaebeom.

Jinyoung’s too fucked out to do anything but lie there and let Jaebeom ride her mouth, to do anything more than hold Jaebeom open and flex her tongue as deep as she can, bury her face into the hot clutch of her, boxed in by Jaebeom’s quaking thighs, listening to her heavy, rushing breath and painfully sexy moans. Jaebeom tastes like the sea, and especially sweet when she shakes apart over Jinyoung.

Eventually, Jinyoung crawls out of bed. She’s wobbly on her feet, feels a little like a newborn deer as she looks around for her clothes. They might be outside Jaebeom’s bedroom, actually.

Behind her, Jaebeom stirs. “What are you doing, Jinyoungie?”

“Looking for clothes,” she says, and then jumps when arms slide around her waist. “Jaebeom-ah —”

“Noooo,” Jaebeom whines into the small of her back. Here is another new side of Jaebeom the hot bartender: she’s so cute like this, sleepy and sex-dazed. “Come back.”

Jinyoung giggles and turns. This is oddly non-sexual, just Jaebeom pressing her face into Jinyoung’s belly. Jinyoung could get used to this. Her heart trips, abruptly, and her stomach turns over.

“Eon-Jaebeommie,” Jinyoung corrects herself. “I’m hungry. I haven’t eaten since five o’clock yesterday.”

There’s a smug edge to Jaebeom’s grin as she looks up, one eyebrow raised, chin digging into the soft swell of Jinyoung’s navel. It would make her feel self-conscious, if not for how thoroughly Jaebeom has demonstrated her appreciation of Jinyoung’s body.

“Food,” Jinyoung says. “I mean food!”

Jaebeom blows a raspberry against Jinyoung’s belly button and rolls away when Jinyoung shrieks and tries to slap at her.

“I’ll make breakfast,” Jaebeom promises, and does.

It’s all Jinyoung can do _not_ to jump her again, when she’s deftly chopping chives to make rolled omelette with, or when she’s flipping kimchi and ham in the frying pan. Jinyoung is so incredibly weak for the corded strength in those wrists and forearms. Even more so now, probably, since she knows what other uses they may be put to.

Jaebeom, cooking, dressed in a hastily pulled on white tank top, no bra, and sweatpants that sit low on her hips, makes the butterflies in Jinyoung’s belly take flight. The ghosts of her orgasms are still echoing in her body, and she’s still throbbing, dressed in a borrowed t-shirt and shorts that hang loose on her, but this is what really makes her flush.

She goes to the fridge to cool down and look for microwaveable rice.

There’s a glass box of actual, cooked, mixed grain rice instead, and Jinyoung wants to die a little inside. The refridgerator air is cold on her cheeks, and does nothing as she imagines with a sudden pang what it would be like to be taken care of like this, all the time.

“There’s soup too,” Jaebeom says suddenly from behind her, too close. Jinyoung jumps a little. And then Jaebeom’s reaching past her, caging her in against the shelves to shift a few boxes aside and retrieve a container of beansprout soup. After all they’d done, after all that marathon sex, this somehow feels too intimate.

“Did you make it too?” Jinyoung asks faintly. She’s holding the rice box to her chest, like it can shield her from her own _feelings_.

“Yeah,” says Jaebeom, smiling at her, eyes creased into crescents. “I can make simple stuff like this.”

“Simple?” Jinyoung echoes indignantly. Her own mother would probably kill to have a daughter like Jaebeom. Someone who could make more than rice.

Jaebeom laughs, and dips into to press a sweet, close-mouthed kiss to Jinyoung’s lips, before backing away to go warm up the soup. “It’s just boiling stuff in water, Jinyoung-ah.”

Locating bowls in the drying rack, Jinyoung scoops rice out into them and waits for her turn with the microwave. “I can’t even make jjigae,” she confesses.

“That’s okay,” Jaebeom says, cutting the omelette into steaming, yellow slices. “I can.”

The microwave beeps, and Jinyoung is saved from having to answer as the next few minutes are preoccupied with heating up rice, setting the table, and then sitting down to breakfast.

She might’ve been made breakfast in bed by previous fucks, but this is just on a whole other level.

“So?” Jaebeom asks, after they’ve both inhaled half their bowls of food, suddenly ravenous. “How’s the food?”

“Good,” Jinyoung says honestly. So good she wants to cry a little, in fact; the omelette was savoury and sweet, and the fried kimchi and ham so much like what her mother makes as a treat on weekends. Jinyoung hasn’t had home-made food this good since she moved away from Jinhae.

Jaebeom fidgets a little, then, glancing shyly up at her through her fringe. Her hair is a mess, falling into her eyes. Apparently Jinyoung has been falling all these months without even noticing.

“Good, good,” Jaebeom says, and Jinyoung is abruptly reminded of how Jaebeom always checks in on her and how she likes the drinks that Jaebeom mixes her. “I, um.”

Tamping down on the tempest currently brewing in her belly, Jinyoung patiently asks, “What is it, Jaebeommie?” Her teacher voice might be slipping out a little.

“I just thought —” and then Jaebeom is suddenly reaching across her tiny little kitchen table to _take Jinyoung’s hand_. “I thought, maybe, since you like my cooking, I could make you jjigae? Sometime? Soondubu jjigae?”

“I ...” Jinyoung stares at her. “Like ... as in a date?”

Jaebeom’s made Jinyoung come so hard she’ll be feeling it for days. And yet, Jaebeom’s entire face goes pink and radiates embarrassment. She’s still clinging onto Jinyoung’s hand, though.

“Yes,” she says, simple and straightforward.

It’s very quiet in Jinyoung’s head, quiet in her belly, when she says, “Okay. Yes.” Looking at the way Jaebeom’s face is brightening rapidly, the toothy smile spreading across her face, Jinyoung continues before she can lose steam, “I want — I want to try all of your jjigae. Every kind you know how to make. And then, and then you can teach me to make them.”

Jaebeom’s beaming at her, her fingers sliding in between Jinyoung’s so that they’re properly holding hands now. “I really want to kiss you now,” she says, putting the chopsticks that she’d been clutching like a lifeline down. “May I?”

“God,” Jinyoung says, and gets up out of her chair so fast it skids behind her. That’s okay, though, because Jaebeom’s hands are already coming up to hold her by the hips. She swings a leg over to sink into Jaebeom’s lap, settles her arms over Jaebeom’s shoulders. “Please.”

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> use dental dams if you're eating/getting eaten out without knowing if they're clean first, kids. 
> 
> [ETA] the working titles of this fic were literally 'lesbians are hot' and 'please god free me now', so. 
> 
> THANK YOU FOR READING. please don't come @ me about rule 63, I'm too old for that.
> 
> if you liked this/felt a feeling, hit that kudos button and [RT](https://twitter.com/forochel/status/1154978309530427394)! tell me how you felt! or don't.


End file.
